Fade to Black
by rosesinjanuary
Summary: "I want to know what happens after the fade to black." Post-Always, of course.


Not new to writing fic, but new to writing _Castle,_ and I know everyone's already done a post-"Always" fic, but I just had to get this one out before I move on to a few others I have marinating. Reviews are lovely (does anyone _not _like reviews? Seriously?), and I hope you like my first contribution to the fandom!

* * *

She'd always assumed Castle had all the impulse control of a two-year-old, based mainly on his inability to keep his mouth shut except in the most dire of situations, the fact that he _could not _leave the fries on her plate alone when they went out to eat, even when he had his own, and that it had taken months of training to get him to stop touching things at crime scenes.

And then the thunder cracked, and the lightening lit up the room, and her back was against the door and his mouth was on hers and she realized that all the self control he hadn't been using on everything else had apparently been channeled into simply _not touching her._ He kissed her like he was drowning and she was air, like he didn't want to ever stop, like he couldn't. And she gave as good as she got, because at that moment, the only thing that she wanted, the only thing that was still real, was him.

Her jacket dropped in a sodden heap on the floor, which was a relief because it was one less thing between them, and getting it off had meant that she had to let go of him for all of thirty seconds, which right then was far too much. It also gave Castle better access to her neck, and for a minute her entire world was the touch of warm lips against her skin, and it was perfect. She could feel his hands along her ribs through her wet shirt, the heat of them soaking through, sliding farther up as his kisses dropped farther down, and she knew what he needed to see. A couple of buttons and there it was. A tiny round mark, hardly anything, really.

Except to them, it was everything.

She let him look for a minute before she leaned in and kissed him again – slower, this time, less frantic – and guided his hand to her heart. _I'm here. Not dead. Don't pay attention to the scar, pay attention to this heartbeat, the one that's real and strong and going a little bit crazy right now because you're touching me._

His kiss was gentler too, a slower burn instead of that first lightening crash, and she wondered how many times tonight they would go back and forth between the two. That made her smile, and when she opened her eyes, his expression made her smile even more – still slightly disbelieving, but also with just a little bit of that shiny, awed, joyful look of a kid in front of a Christmas tree beginning to creep in.

She slid her hand into his, their fingers fitting like they were made to, and tugged lightly, thankful that she'd been to his loft enough times that she at least knew where his bedroom was, even if she'd never been in it. At the closed door she stopped and turned back to face him, and he kissed her again, sweet and hungry and – "Are you planning on making a habit of kissing me against doors?" she asked, amused.

"I'm planning on making a habit of kissing you anywhere I can," he answered, and his voice was a mix of complete seriousness and pure Castle charm. She rolled her eyes, of course, but couldn't stop her smile.

He turned the doorknob and they stumbled backwards into his room. Normally she'd have been curious about Castle's inner sanctum, but right now she was more concerned with his hands and arms and mouth, and the way his hair felt between her fingers, and whether the bed was close enough that they could manage not to trip one another before they got there.

A draft from the air conditioner brushed against her wet shoulders, and she shivered, which caught his attention. "You're freezing," he realized. Which was something she hadn't actually noticed since she'd been standing outside his door, trying to get up the nerve to knock. She was surprise he hadn't noticed sooner - her skin was still fairly icy to the touch.

"You're warming me up," she informed him, sliding her arms around his neck. This distracted him for a minute, but eventually he leaned back with a deep breath and a quiet groan.

"Shower."

She'd been intent on the soft skin just below his ear, and the word didn't immediately make sense. "Huh?"

He took another deep breath and actually stepped back (though not very far), and now she actually did notice that she was cold, since she wasn't pressed up against him. "Shower," he repeated, pointing over her shoulder, presumably to the bathroom. "Go get warm, or you're going to catch cold."

If she were the type of woman who pouted, she would have. (She wasn't entirely sure she wasn't.) There was just enough dad in his tone to be both annoying and kind of adorable. "Fine. You're coming with me."

He closed his eyes, and she could swear he practically whimpered. "No. Just go, stand under the hot water until you don't feel like an icicle, and then…" He trailed off and pressed a kiss into her palm, his eyes open again and on hers. "I've waited for you for four years, I can wait ten more minutes."

She was fairly sure her heart was already a gooey puddle somewhere in her chest, but that did her in. "Okay." Her turn to take a deep breath. She steered him the few extra steps towards the bed and pushed against his chest until he sat down, looking up at her with those patient, loving, intense eyes. She kissed him again. "Ten minutes," she promised as headed towards the bathroom door. "And you," she ordered over her shoulder, "stay _right _there." Shrugging out of her shirt (she did _love_ to tease him), she stepped through the doorway, and as the door closed behind her, she _definitely _heard a whimper.

Her back against the door, she took another deep, steadying breath. And then started struggling out of her wet clothes as quickly as she could. She didn't care about being steady right now. She cared about being with Castle, and he'd waited long enough. They both had.

His bathroom was at least the size of her bedroom, if not bigger, and it would probably take a half hour lesson to learn how to use all the different functions in the shower. She hit what looked like the most basic buttons, and the hot water hitting her skin felt like heaven. She'd barely realized how cold she was, and for a solid five minutes, she just stood in the spray. She could have stayed for an hour if it hadn't been for Castle waiting for her.

As she was squeezing the water out of her hair, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Drowned rat was not her best look, she decided, but Castle had seen her looking worse. And it didn't appear to have had any impact on how much he wanted her. She could get self-conscious about it, or she could just clean up a couple of smudges of eyeliner and go to him. The bruises were a problem, though. They were still faint, but if she went out there in the towel she'd wrapped around herself, he'd notice them. And all his protective instincts would kick in, and while she kind of loved it (and hated it too) when he tried to take care of her, that wasn't what they needed tonight. Obviously he would see them eventually, but right now, she didn't really want him distracted – she needed a chance to distract _him _first. She grabbed his bathrobe off the back of the door and wrapped herself in it.

Navy, soft and warm, and it smelled like him. The only thing she'd rather have around her was his arms.

He was obediently waiting just where she'd left him, sitting very still with his eyes closed. The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Hey," she said, padding across the carpet. She came in close and stepped between his knees, and wound her fingers through his hair, tilting his face up towards hers. "You fall asleep?"

His hands settled on her hips, but his eyes stayed closed. "I'm afraid if I open my eyes, this will be a dream."

She rolled her eyes and pinched his arm. "Look at me, Castle. You're not dreaming."

"Ow." Castle opened his eyes slowly, and a cautious smile crept over his face. "My bathrobe looks good on you."

"Feels good on me." That little crease between his eyebrows was worrying her. "I can practically hear you thinking, you know."

His smile faded a little. "Can we go back to the part where you almost died, just for a minute?"

"But I didn't," she reminded him. "I'm not dead. I'm right here."

The little crease was still there. "They say…" and she could tell that he was forcing the words out with difficulty, "that it's not the best idea to make major life decisions after near-death experiences." He looked so earnest and concerned and like he was already trying to resign himself to doing what he thought was right.

That damn noble streak of his was one of the reasons she'd fallen for him, but right now she wanted his hands on her, and hers on him. "Castle," she said, "I have made so many decisions in the past couple of days, and some of them were pretty bad. Some of them might still turn out to be bad, and I'll have to deal with that. But this…" She sat down next to him, sliding her hand into his, and saw the spark of hope rekindle in his face. "I'm sure about this. It's just about the only thing I'm sure about right now. Anyway," she continued, "this decision was already made before today." Kate leaned in and brushed her lips against his. "You have been here all along," she murmured, looking into his eyes. "And you have been so patient for the past year. You don't have to be patient any more." She trailed her fingers along his jaw. "I don't want you to be patient any more." She kissed him again…

…and he kissed her back.

For the past year (and longer, though she hadn't been willing to admit it, even to herself), she'd wondered what it would be like. She'd catch him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking, staring at her with so much love and desire that it always felt like she couldn't catch her breath for a second, and wondered – worried – whether the two of them would be able to live up to the expectations in his eyes, the ones that she felt simmering just under her skin whenever he touched her. Wondered if the reality could measure up to the anticipation.

Reality was her wet hair dripping on them and getting in the way, and a sudden attack of nerves that had her fingers fumbling on his shirt buttons, and both of them trying desperately to take it slowly and failing miserably because they were so hungry for one another, and his hands trembling as he slid the robe off her shoulders and touched her – _really _touched her – for the first time.

Reality was so much better than anticipation and expectation and fantasy, because it was _real._

#

The only light came from the streets below, filtering through the window. They lay facing each other in his bed, warm and relaxed and completely spent, and still he couldn't stop touching her. He _needed _to trace the line of her nose, the whorl of her ear, the curve of her mouth.

"Thank you for helping prove a theory of mine," he said eventually.

"Hmm?" She was touching him too, running the tips of her fingers along his collarbone, across his shoulder and back again. Feather touches that he could barely feel, but never wanted to stop.

"So you know how the first time you have sex with someone, it's either really great or really not great? Not actually, because it's probably somewhere in between, but you don't have any basis for comparison with that person, so it's great or not great."

Her fingers froze on his shoulder. "Yes…." Her voice was had the familiar, dangerous, _if you do not come to the point _very _quickly Castle, you are in an entire universe of trouble_ tone.

He grinned, because everything had changed, but nothing had. "Well, that was great. Obviously."

Her fingers started moving again. "Obviously," she agreed, and fortunately she sounded amused rather than angry. "And that was your theory? That we'd have great sex?"

"One of them. Though that was less a theory and more a fact awaiting its inevitable moment of proof. But I was actually thinking of a different one. You know how make-up sex is always fantastic?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, you just proved my theory that if you combine great first sex with make-up sex, it adds up to really _amazing _sex." Very thoroughly proved, in fact.

"Wait a second." She propped herself up on one elbow. "First sex cannot be make-up sex. You can't have make-up sex with someone you've never slept with before."

"We were fighting. We made up. We had sex. Now we're in the same room and not screaming at each other." He smirked. "Well, you were screaming at me just now, but I didn't get the sense you were angry."

She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "That was not a scream, Castle. That was a…very satisfied and possibly sort of loud moan."

He tugged her gently back down to the bed. "Okay. I'll accept that description. Especially the 'very satisfied' part." She was laughing. Two hours ago he thought he'd never see her smile again, and now here she was. Laughing. In his bed. "You're beautiful."

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he thought she blushed. "You said that already." His thumb brushed against her lips, and she kissed it, while she found his free hand and wound her fingers through his. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

They needed to talk, about so many things. But not now. Right now, it was just them, and tangled sheets and sleepy kisses and soft words and the sound of the storm outside. Right now was perfect. "Kate."

She'd closed her eyes to lean her cheek into his palm, but at the sound of her name, she opened them again and looked at him through those thick lashes of hers. "Yeah?"

That look killed him every time. "Promise me something?" She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Don't –" He stopped, started again. "If you…if you have to…go. If you need to leave, please don't –" He twisted a strand of her hair around his finger, tucked it behind her ear. "Wake me up if I'm sleeping, okay? Don't go without saying goodbye."

Her expression was caught somewhere between surprised and sad. "Castle…"

"Because if I wake up and you're gone, I really will believe this was a dream." The thought of it squeezed his heart, and he ran his hand through her hair again. "Please, Kate." He rarely begged, not like this, but for her, he would.

"Castle." She pushed herself across the small space that separated them, and curled her body into his. Their faces were so close their noses brushed, and their arms wrapped around one another naturally. "I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here." She kissed him. "I'm here."

He knew it wasn't going to be that simple. For either of them. But right now it was. Which meant that right now was still perfect.

#

It was one of those falling dreams, except instead of just blackness and the feeling of falling, it was the rooftop, and no Ryan to catch her. She jerked awake, gasping for breath, her hand fisting in the sheet.

Not her sheet. Also not her pillows, or mattress. She was disoriented for a minute, until she felt the heavy arm draped across her waist.

Castle.

Castle's mattress, Castle's pillows, Castle's insanely high thread-count sheets. Castle's arm around her waist, grounding her. She hadn't woken him, but he must have felt her move, because he pulled her a little closer and mumbled something soothing and incoherent against her hair.

Safe. Not falling. With Castle for real, not just hearing some trick her brain played on her ears. Kate snuggled into his embrace and listened to the rain against the window and Castle's breathing, content.

…at least until her stomach started growling too insistently to be ignored. She tried to remember the last time she'd eaten, and vaguely recalled a granola bar sometime early that morning. With slow, careful movements (and more than a little regret), she extracted herself from Castle's arm, hoping that sneaking out to the kitchen didn't count as leaving. She made it all the way to the edge of the bed and was pulling on the robe they'd let drop on the floor earlier in the night when she felt his hand on her back.

"Where're you going?" he mumbled, and though he tried to say it lightly, she caught the faint undertone of worry in his voice. She crawled back across the bed and leaned down to kiss him, long and deep enough to convince him she wasn't running away. He slid his hands inside her borrowed robe and ran them over her back as he pulled her close. God, she could get used to this.

"Just to raid your fridge," she informed him when they broke apart for air. "I can't remember the last time I actually ate."

Castle scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and pulled himself to a sitting position. "Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll make you the best –" he paused to check the clock on his bedside table " - very-late-dinner-very-early-breakfast you've ever tasted."

"You don't have to get up," she told him. "I can feed myself."

"I consider it my duty as a man to prove that chivalry is not dead by cooking for a beautiful woman who wakes up hungry in my apartment." He blinked at her. "My bathrobe appears to be occupied. Again."

She rolled up the too-long sleeves as he pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. "It looks better on me."

He came around the bed and took her hand, tugging her to her feet. "I'm not arguing." He leaned in and kissed her. "Hi."

"Hi." Without her usual heels, he had a few inches on her, which she tended to forget. But it meant that her head lined up with his shoulder as she fit her body against his. It was different and yet perfect at the same time.

Well, almost perfect.

"I was promised food," she said, tipping her head back to look up at him.

"Hm?" He was staring down at her with a happy, slightly distracted expression. She poked him in the back.

"Food, Castle. I'm starving."

The rain still poured down outside, and firelight from the wall fireplace flickered inside. They'd only turned a few lights, just enough to see, so his loft was a dim, romantic cave full of shadows. She was sitting in Castle's kitchen at two in the morning, wearing his bathrobe, watching him make her bacon and eggs. She had to keep repeating these basic facts to herself to make them real. To be perfectly truthful, she was watching him almost burn bacon and eggs, because he kept staring at her with that same wondering look on his face he'd had earlier that night. "When I said I liked my bacon crispy, I didn't mean black," she informed him. He looked at her blankly for a second, and then glanced down and quickly moved the bacon to the paper towels next to the stove and turned off the flame under the eggs. He piled everything on two plates and brought them around to her side of the counter, but didn't sit. Instead he frowned, and tugged the robe away from her neck.

"Okay, I will take responsibility for _that – "_ he tapped a spot on her shoulder that she remembered him exploring with considerable interest earlier " – but…" He traced along her neck. "…I'm pretty sure _that _is from something else. Or some_one_ else."

The combination of his bathrobe, very dim light, and the fact that they could barely let go of one another long enough to breathe, much less do any sort of close examination, had kept him from noticing before now. Taking his hand, she kissed his fingers, knowing he was going to hate this. "I got beaten up before I almost died."

He hated it. "How bad?"

"They checked me out at the scene. It's just bruises, and a couple of bruised ribs. Barely bruised. I'll be fine. I _am _fine."

He tightened his hand on hers. "You should have _told _me, Kate, I would have been more gentle." Worry, and love, and anger, and relief that she was all right…she hadn't known a face could hold so many expressions. "Did I hurt you? Earlier?"

Just him saying that made her heart go all gooey again. "C'mere." She tugged lightly on his t-shirt, pulling him close, and looked into his eyes. "When you touch me," she told him quietly as she wound her arms around his neck, "I forget that it hurts at all. I didn't want you to be gentle." He bent his head and rested his forehead against hers as he (carefully) put his arms around her. "I just wanted to be with you." They kissed, softly, and it was that same wonderful new/familiar feeling she'd been having since she walked through his door. "I _want _to be with you."

"Tell me," he said after a moment.

So she told him, while they ate cheesy eggs and slightly overdone bacon, and she watched him try and not freak out. Which he did pretty well, until she got to the hanging off the building part and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. But she squeezed his hand and he let her continue, through her thinking she heard his voice, and Ryan catching her, and the suspension. "And then…" She found that looking at him was hard for this part, but she made herself do it. "And then I resigned."

He stared at her blankly, and for a moment she was treated to the rare sight of Castle speechless.

Though he recovered quickly. "Why?"

A question she'd asked herself at least half a dozen times between when she'd left the 12th and when she'd decided to come here. And she wasn't any closer to a real answer, but she gave him the best she had. "I looked at my badge, and it didn't mean the same things to me any more. I hated that she was taking it away from me, but I hated it for all the wrong reasons – because it meant she was taking my mother's case away from me, not for the job, and I knew that I was losing myself in it again. And then I realized that there was something I wanted more than my badge, and more than the answers I was chasing. When I was hanging off that building, I wasn't afraid of dying without those. It was something else." He looked at her quizzically, and she nearly laughed, but contained it in a smile instead. "You. I was afraid of dying without seeing you again."

There was that slow, surprised smile again. She wondered if she'd ever get tired of making him smile like that. Then his eyes turned serious. "It's not one or the other, you know. Me or the job."

"I know."

"Are you okay?"

She started to nod, then shake her head, and finally just shrugged. "I don't know what I am. I don't think it's actually sunk in yet. I'm just waiting for it to hit me." She glanced over at him through her lashes. "Will you be there when it does?"

He held out his hand, and she slid hers into it. Like always. That word, the one she connected to him now, and had for longer than she'd been willing to admit: "Always," he said, and she knew he meant it.

"I should have picked up the phone when Ryan called," he sighed a moment later. "I'm so sorry, Kate. I promised you I would always be there for you and then I broke that promise because I got angry. Because I was afraid. I'm sorry."

"No, Castle." She shook her head. "I know why you walked away. I was thinking about it this afternoon, when I was sitting on the swings – you remember the swings, where we talked after I came back last summer?" He smiled slightly at that, and nodded. "I was thinking about my mom. About what I would have said to her if I'd known what she was doing, and what sort of danger she was in. She was doing the right thing, and fighting for justice. And still, if I'd known that what she was doing would get her killed, I would have begged her to stop, just like you begged me, because I loved her, and I couldn't have stood to watch her throw her life away, even for a good cause."

"Still," he said, and he stood so that he could wrap his arms around her. She lay her head on his shoulder. "I should have stayed. Kate, your mom's case…Maddox…"

"Shhh..." She closed her eyes and ran her hand along his arm. "Not now, Castle. Tomorrow. We can start to pick up all the pieces tomorrow. Tonight it's just us." Just the two of them in his loft, with the fire flickering and the storm outside, wrapping them up and isolating them, safe from everything outside, if only for a little while.

They were quiet for a minute, and she felt his mood slowly shift as his lips brushed her hair. "I can kiss those bruises and make them better, if you'd like."

She sat up and slid her arms around his neck so they were eye to eye. "Really? You're so selfless, Castle," she said dryly.

His lips quirked into a smile and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "I know. I'm kind of great like that." He leaned in and she felt his arm slide under her knees, and almost before she realized it he'd lifted her into his arms.

"Castle!" She tightened her grip on him in surprise.

"You've had a long day. I figured you shouldn't have to walk all the way to the bedroom." He brushed a kiss across her cheek. "I'm not going to drop you. I promise. Trust me?"

He was Castle. He was the only person she'd let herself depend on in a long time. And he would never, ever drop her. She tilted her head up for a kiss. "Yeah, I trust you."

#

"Tell me a story, Castle."

He loved the way she said his name, sort of lingering on the first syllable. It sounded especially sweet just now, when her voice was all low and contented and drifting towards sleep. "What kind of story?"

She sighed and curled closer to his side, settling her head over his heart. "The story…of what happens next. Because this is where the story usually ends, isn't it? Dramatic rain-soaked kiss, and fade to black? I want to know what happens after the fade to black."

He was running his finger through her nearly-dry hair, untangling strands where he hit knots. "Kate Beckett. You were reading my books before we even met. Surely you know by now: I write _series."_

Her laugh vibrated against his chest, and he fell in love with her for the hundredth time that night and the millionth since they'd met. "Okay, then, Richard Castle, writer of series. Tell me the next part of the story."

The next part of the story, as far as he was concerned, was keeping her safe – from Maddox, from whoever pulled his strings, from everything. Because if Maddox knew who Smith was, than she wasn't safe anymore, even if she'd quit, even if she'd walked away.

But that wasn't the story for right now.

"Next, you'll probably fall asleep. It's possible I'll watch you sleep in a way you might tell me is creepy, except you'll be asleep and won't see me, so I can stare as much as I want. And then tomorrow, I think have everything to make French toast for breakfast." As he talked, he felt her relax against him, going boneless as her breathing started to slow. He kept his voice low, loving the feeling of her falling asleep in his arms. "I'll spend some time with Alexis tomorrow, let you get some rest. But then later I think we have a John Woo double-feature date that we never got to tonight."

"Mmm…with take out?" she mumbled.

"Any kind you want," he said, stroking her hair.

She sighed. "Chinese, I think," she said.

"And I'll put on my most charming manners and talk you into bed again. After that, I will be informing my mother that she needs to vacate the house in the Hamptons for at least four days, possibly longer, because I _really_ want to see what you look like in a bikini. And we get to decide when to let our friends have a really good time congratulating themselves on seeing this coming." He kept talking, softly, about pancakes for dinner and movie marathons and water balloon fights and helping Alexis move into her dorm; about time in the Hamptons and walking on the beach, and fireworks on the Fourth, and how they would probably fight about stupid things like who paid for dinner or whether she went with him to launch parties. He lingered over the description of the dress she'd wear to the launch party when he (eventually) won that fight.

That's when he knew she was really asleep, because she didn't roll her eyes at him.

"And then someday – not tomorrow, not next month, not even next year – but someday," he continued, barely above a whisper, near sleep himself now, "I'll manage to convince you that the only thing missing from your life is becoming the third wife of a man nearly a decade older than you who makes up stories for a living." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "And then, Kate," he murmured as he drifted off, "we'll live happily ever after."


End file.
